


With or Without You

by ringaroundtherollins, SophinaBlackwood



Category: World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Angst, Established Relationship, Kayfabe Compliant
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-08-07
Updated: 2016-08-07
Packaged: 2018-07-29 18:07:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,064
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7694239
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ringaroundtherollins/pseuds/ringaroundtherollins, https://archiveofourown.org/users/SophinaBlackwood/pseuds/SophinaBlackwood
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Neville isn’t impressed with Dolph’s actions to put his contendership on the line during Smackdown, and even though they’re supposed to be spending a needed day of fun together, what happened needs to be addressed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	With or Without You

_Dolph, I swear on me Mum_ …

Neville closed his eyes and prayed for a moment Dolph wouldn’t fall victim to the baiting, the taunting- and yet he was completely letting Ambrose dominate him, mind and soul.

“You and I are honestly pretty…pretty similar, y’know?” Dolph asked Ambrose in the middle of the ring. He sought relations, he wanted understanding. He’d fought hard for this over the years, the Universe knew as did Neville, but he needed to be careful. Neville absent-mindedly bit down on a thumbnail as Ambrose opened his mouth, eyes focused on the television.

“No, we’re not.” Ambrose smirked smugly, playing to the crowd’s reaction. Dolph’s head bobbed, near giggling at the sheer contrast in Ambrose’s words, but Dean kept on: “We’re nothing alike, Dolph. ‘Cause you’re all show…and I’m all go, brotha.”

Dolph pressed his lips together. _Come on, he’s a madcap, Dolph_ , Neville thought. _He’s just provoking you. Don’t buy into it. You can’t afford it_.

“I’ve scratched and clawed my entire life to get this,” Dean said, referring to the championship belt on his shoulder, “and rest assured, ain’t _nobody_ taking it away from me.”

Dolph lifted an eyebrow. Neville couldn’t help but take a moment to regard how dazzling he looked tonight. Ponytail, suit and all. But he was so, _so_ much more than good looks.

“Not at Summerslam, not ever. _Especially_ not you.”

Dolph contemplated Dean’s words momentarily. “Are—wait a minute, are we just gonna act like you didn’t… _swarm_ on in here with a SWAT Team of Seth Rollins and Roman Reigns? You started from the top, now you’re here? I got it, man,” he goaded, to Ambrose’s apathy.

 _Not relevant, Showoff_ , Neville grunted inwardly. Bringing up the Shield was only going to piss Ambrose off. He’d begun the program seated on the edge of his bed, but found himself standing too, often wandering in front of the television, gaze anchored on the screen.

“I came in as a male cheerleader, bro,” Dolph reminded everyone, and Neville sighed hopelessly in spite of himself at _that_ particular memory. Dolph allowed the crowd to whoop at that before accusing: “You’re a little off in more ways than one, but you wanna talk about scratching and clawing? You’re looking at him.”

“Are you done?” Ambrose blurted disrespectfully. Neville’s dug into a handful of bedsheets- he was sitting again, but not for long. “Are you done feeling _sorry_ for yourself?” Dean let the words drag in a mocking tone, and Neville’s mouth twisted, huffing nasally. _Watch it, mate._ “I mean, yeah, everything you said—everything you just said is true, it is what it is. But the big difference between you and me, Dolph, you waste your time complaining.”

 _Oh, much like you’re doing right now, Ambrose_?

Dolph was nodding as if in agreement, but wrinkles dipped deep in his forehead and Neville knew Ambrose was worming his way under his skin, fast. Dean continued, finger lazily tapping the mic cover, body language and tone like wished he were anywhere else. “See, when people said I wasn’t championship material, I didn’t care. Still don’t. I don’t give a damn what people think; when people put roadblocks in front of me time after time again, I didn’t care. Still don’t. Stepped over ‘em, one right after the other because I knew at the end of the day, I was gonna prove everybody wrong. And I did, and I became WWE World Champion. Can you say the same thing, _brother_?”

Neville ducked his head to firmly rub his temples.. He didn’t need to watch to know how Dolph looked; didn’t have to be a mind reader to sense his thoughts. Gratingly, the crowd was delighted for their kingpin Ambrose.

“And yeah,” Dean went on, “You’ll steal the show like you always do, and you’ll make all the highlight reels, and you’ll do all your fancy moves, and the crowd will go nuts, and we’ll have a great match, and we’ll really tear the house down. Yeah, Dolph, you’re gonna _steal the show_.” Each word was laced with cynicism. “And I’m gonna do what I do. ‘Cause I know who I am. I’m a winner.”

Neville liked Dean but even this was a little much. _You’re bein’ a wanker is what you are, Ambrose_. He returned his focus to the television, hands folding and unfolding within one another. Even from this great distance he could feel the smoke off Dolph’s tawny skin.

“Ambrose, you wanna know who I am?” Dolph challenged, his natural buoyancy replaced with looming defeat. Neville raised in his seat, alert and interested. Dolph swallowed a lump lifting in his throat. “A kid from Cleveland who went to his first ever WWE live event when he was five years old and said one day, _one day_ , that’s gonna be me!” His voice was rugged, resolve cracking piece by piece. Neville grimaced and exhaled sharp through his nose. What did he think was going to happen? Ambrose taking pity? As if.

“I’m the guy who walked on at Kent State University, broke records in wrestling hoping that _one day_ , _one day_ I might get my foot in the door and get a shot at being a superstar!” Dolph had to pause, his mind catching up to his mouth. “You wanna know who I am? I’m the guy that for the last seven years has been disrespected--”

 _I respect you_.

“--undervalued--”

 _I cherish you_.

“--overlooked--”

 _You’re all I see when you’re in the room_.

“--told one day that I’m not good enough and told the next day that I’m too good…you wanna know who I am!? _You wanna know who the hell I am!?_ ”

Neville heart thumped fast in his chest, experiencing the passion one with Dolph. As if he were right there in the arena with everyone else. The words were sliding off Dean’s back but they didn’t need to pierce him. The crowd, originally on Ambrose’s side, was slowly swapping camp. _Good work, Showoff,_ Neville praised with determination and Dolph pushed his face into Ambrose’s space as if he’d heard that sentiment.

“I’m the man that’s gonna walk into Summerslam, burn Brooklyn to the ground, _beat your ass, and become champion because I am that! Damn! Good_!”

The crowd approved of the intensity. Ambrose still didn’t look amused. Neville punched the mattress hard, not letting his fist bounce back. How could he barely react, after that level of--

“No, you’re not,” Ambrose said nonchalantly.

Neville’s chest began to heave, top lip pulling into a snarl.

Obviously Neville’s ire was of no concern to Ambrose. “You’re not gonna do any of that. And it’s not gonna be because of some conspiracy theory, it’s not because anybody’s holding you back or holding you down…you’re gonna find out what your real problem is. Real problem is…” His tone bit into darkness. “You’re not as good as you think you are.”

“He’s better than you!” Neville snapped and immediately felt daft that he was now yelling at the television. “I don’t care about your belt-- he’s gonna prove he’s better than you’ll ever be!” He put a finger to the corner of his eye, striking out a tear and looked at it in shock. Damn it, he was getting so worked up over this...

Ambrose simply dropped the microphone and shuffled away. Dolph followed him with his eyes, glowering. Ambrose’s music hit and Dolph stayed in the ring along, fuming…

“Come on, Dolph,” Neville mumbled, now with a lot of pent up fury and no outlet. “Just--”

The lights on screen cut, suddenly. Dolph’s mic thudded as it was dropped. A blend of screeching and static filled the arena, and Nevill’s heart drove all the way up into his throat. Familiar photographs cut one after the other. Then blackness.

“No,” he gasped, knowing what this was.

When the lights brightened the stadium once more, Bray Wyatt already had Dolph in position for the Sister Abigail. “NO!” Neville screamed, flying to his feet and lunging for the television like he could do something about it. Yet of course he couldn’t-- Bray kissed his lover’s forehead before twisting, Dolph smashing against the mat, and Neville could only watch. The crowd was hysterical for Wyatt as he recovered the fallen microphone. Dolph was motionless. Neville’s breath drained out of him as Bray Wyatt spoke.

“I wanna offer you a little challenge, man,” Bray said beside the fallen Dolph. His arm stirred, then flopped. He was completely out of it. “Face me, right here, in this very ring…” Bray hopped to his feet. “And if you win! You will prove to all these people once and for all that you are worthy of being the number-one contender!”

Neville paced violently, finger shaking towards the screen as he swiveled. “You have nothin’ to do with this, Bray,” he warned.

“If you fall…” Bray crouched beside Dolph again. _Get up and get out of there_! Neville screamed mentally to him. “ _I_ will take your place at Summerslam. And _I_ will be the number-one contender. So come on ahead, Showoff. And prove to me that you really are _that. Damn. Good_.”

The wrestling fans praised Bray Wyatt with Daniel Bryan’s famous “Yes!” chant. Neville’s knees threatened to buckle at the thought that there was an opportunity for Wyatt to steal Dolph’s contendership. But Dolph hadn’t accepted. He wouldn’t be that daft to put his contendership on the line. That was _his_ decision to make, not Bray’s. As long as Shane and Bryan weren’t swayed by the audience’s chants…

“Everything will be fine,” Neville said aloud, forcing himself to calm down.

 

* * *

 

A day passed since Smackdown and Neville could recall every word, every expression, even his every reaction to the showdown, first with Ambrose then with Bray. Dolph Ziggler, _his_ _Dolph_ , screaming to the world that he could do all he wanted to do, and the mockery to follow. The disbelief. The disgrace.

Dolph didn’t deserve that.

Neville was nearly there. He would be reunited with Dolph again for the first time in awhile, right in the middle of Phoenix. It had been his turn to visit and he didn’t have much of a choice, weathering the triple-digit temperatures. Besides, Dolph was worth melting over in the heat of summer, which offered _no_ competition towards their natural heat whenever they were together.

That didn’t get to happen so much anymore. Not since the split.

Which was why every moment had to count.

And yet Neville was troubled, troubled even so as he rolled into Dolph’s driveway between the rows of planted cacti and shut off the engine. Dolph’s desert castle of modern excellence was tucked away in Paradise Valley to the backdrop of stunning Phoenix mesas. Or, at least Neville referred to it as a castle. The infinity pool and fire pit were nice but what did a man who was only at home two days a week do with five bedrooms?!

Dolph was already at the grand front doors, and closed the distance to meet Neville across the stone porch. The presence of the Showoff cast a smile on his face like magic, and just for a moment the distress was whisked away as the feel of Dolph’s arms roped him into an overdue hug and the irresistible taste of a kiss.

“Hey, kid.” Neville’s nickname passed those soft, warm lips, voice silvery and relieved.

“Hey, Dolph.”

“Missed you like hell.”

“Feelin’s mutual.”

They had plans for lunch and maybe an outing downtown afterwards, but Neville was understandably in need of a freshen up after his flight. A shower was his ideal destination first, especially with Dolph there. But as they head inside Dolph’s castle, perfectly tempered, towards the master bedroom the anguish returned. Part of it triggered by bruising on Dolph’s cheek from where he’d cracked against the mat via Sister Abigail. The rest was prompted by Ambrose and Wyatt’s untrue words screaming in Neville’s head, louder than Dolph had been shouting at Ambrose, louder than Neville had been yelling at the TV…

“ _You’re not as good as you think you are_.”

“ _So come on ahead, Showoff. And prove to me that you really are_ _that. Damn. Good_.”

“You okay?” Dolph asked, eyeing him inquiringly, hands dropping to his sides after opening the double doors to his bedroom.

“I--” _Can’t lie to ya, that’s for bloody sure_. Neville wanted to say yes but what came out was: “What were you thinking?” Forced and uncertain.

“What was I thinking…when?” Dolph asked. He tugged out of his black workout shirt and Neville turned his gaze to the ceiling to not get distracted over Dolph’s whittled six-pack, or how low the elastic of his shorts clung to his hips.

“When you got in that ring with Ambrose. Let him bait you like that. You were eating right out of his hands.”

Dolph narrowed his eyes. “Do we have to talk about this now?”

 _No, we don’t_ , one sector of Neville’s conscious urged him. _Just kiss him and be with him. You don’t have long. This will just cause tension_. But Dolph had forced Neville to look into his future. _Dolph’s_ future. Imminence that could have brought them both tremendous pain: physical for Dolph, emotional for Neville.

“I was worried about you, Showoff,” Neville said. He regretted the pet name in the moment. Ambrose and Bray had used it in scorn. He felt the desire to close up, hug himself but he balled fists instead, muscles flaring.

Dolph made a face. “Ambrose is a big talker. He pissed me off, but I’m over it. Bray Wyatt ambushed me. It hurt like a bitch, but I’m alright. You worry too much about me.” Dolph pulled Neville into the room, pressed a loving kiss to his nose, and Neville fought with everything he had not to give into the moment.

“Dolph,” he corrected himself this time, focusing on the cleft in Dolph’s chin rather than his eyes. “You’re going to get yourself hurt far worse than what Bray did to you—”

“Hey, it worked out, right?” Dolph deflected, placing a hand on Neville’s waist, the other waving dismissively. “I’ve fought him before, and I beat him that night. I’m right where I’m supposed to be. Especially right now.” He drew them together, heat of his skin warming Neville’s chest through his poloshirt. Neville’s heartrate fired up. He had almost nowhere to look but at Dolph now, how beautiful he was inside and out; how delicate, even if he would never say so…

“Dolph,” Neville sighed.

“Babe,” Dolph echoed in a mimicked tone. He wasn’t _getting_ it.

“No, Dolph, please.” It hurt Neville to take a step back, but he had to, removing the lovely touch of his partner from him. This whole Smackdown thing, Dolph’s decisions, had been eating him alive for too many hours now. It had to be addressed. “What’s the matter with you?” It came out harsher than he intended and Neville’s breath caught in anguish.

Dolph was incredulous. “With _me_? The hell... What’s wrong, babe? What’s bothering you so much about this?”

“I-I just need you to be careful. I don’t think you’re ready for this right now--”

“Fuck, are you kidding me?” Dolph exclaimed through a scoff. His hands went to his head, then his hips, and he wandered away from Neville, who tried to keep his expression from twitching sadly while his back was turned. Dolph twirled around to face Neville, now standing several feet away. “What are you saying, babe? You saying I can’t beat Ambrose? I’m not ready for the WWE World Championship?”

“That’s not it at all!”

“Then what is it, huh?” Dolph shoved two handfuls of hair from his face and pleaded with Neville angrily with his gorgeous eyes. “Because it sounds to be like not even _you_ believe in me.”

Neville’s eyes widened. How had he gotten _that_ out of what he was trying to say? “I believe in you wholeheartedly, Dolph.” His voice quaked and he pressed through the nerves. “I never _stopped_ believin’ in you. If the world’s against ya, then I suppose I’m against the world.”

Dolph pouted in a way similar to his countenance on Smackdown. He stared at the walk in wardrobe door off to the left rather than at Neville, folding his arms tight across his still-bare chest.

“Understand me, Dolph, there’s a difference between cheering you on from the sidelines as you compete from the belt, and watching hel--” Neville’s voice failed him for a second, nails biting into his palms. “-- _helplessly_ as you rush into something like a reckless idiot, when you’re not prepared and not ready for--”

“I’ve been ready for this _my entire life_!” Dolph shouted, more so defensively than angrily. His hands went to the air. “Have you been listening to _anything_ I’ve said over the years? Does my life have _any_ impact on you? I’ve been pushing and shoving my way to the top since I was a kid, and now, here I am, with this glorious opportunity _just_ within reach…and you’re telling me to back off.”

“I’m telling ya ta'be careful,” Neville disputed.

“You’re telling me I can’t do it,” Dolph accused.

“I’m telling you to _be careful_ ,” he repeated sternly with controlled enunciation. “Dolph, you’re clearly flustered after everything Ambrose said to you, and you’re not as focused as you should be for an opportunity like this. The way you were so defensive at Shane and Bryan, runnin’ yourself right into danger, Dolph, it--” Neville’s head wavered before he chose to stare away. “-- scared me.”

Dolph was taken aback for only a moment, then his jaw clenched. “It hasn’t exactly been easy for me lately.”

Neville’s eyes glinted, still averted. “I know…”

“No, you don’t know, kid. You don’t.” At last he made a single step back towards Neville. Progress. “You wanna know something? I’m sure you already know, but let me remind you of the struggle so you can better understand what I’m dealing with here.”

Neville rolled his head back to the ceiling before coming down to focus on Dolph with a silent, frustrated stare. This wouldn’t help much, would it?

“I have one thing going for me right now. One.” Dolph raised a finger to indicate, yes, this was the number he was talking about. “And that’s number-one contendership for the WWE World Title. This month, I have the opportunity to finally, _finally_ stand tall at the top of the company.” Another step forward, then another. Splinters of improvement coming together, working out. “And the reason I have this _one_ and only thing going for me right now is because all that I had left in the company-- all I had in the _world_ , if you’re wanting me to be honest-- was taken from me. In one night. Boom. Everything changed. My world... Draft night, my whole world just…” He drew in a breath and cleared his throat.

Neville’s was frozen in place, heart drumming hot in his ears. Had Dolph really felt this way about him this entire time? His ‘ _whole world_ ’? This wasn’t just any old boyfriend Neville had been with over the years. This was the Showoff. The playboy. Those words _meant_ something and would have never expected them to be considered, let alone said.

“I suppose.. I guess it was you out with your injury, Nev. Not getting the chance to see you everyday, or sneaking into each other’s hotel rooms, or having the daylights fucked out of me weekly--” Dolph caught Neville’s hopeless smirk and he smiled back sadly, for a moment. “Then you were back and I was on this high, so fucking happy, and then two weeks later they just.. I lost you, _again_. It drove me insane. It still does, I’m not over it, but.. losing that togetherness, the one that drove me to complete fucking frustration.. I hate to say this like it was some sort of advantage, but it gave me the push I needed to just…focus. To enjoy the pain of the punishment. It propelled me to where I stand today, simply because I needed to be happy again. I was just craving that joy. I got it. I lost it. I needed it back. I wanted _you_ back. But that clearly isn’t happening, so I...” His voice died suddenly in the air and he swayed sidewards, slumping onto the end of the bed.

Neville bit his lip, heart and head at odds with itself, still processing all.. _that_. This was more than ‘ _let’s go steady_ ’s or ‘ _I love you_ ’s. When Adrian Neville started casually fucking Dolph Ziggler, he would’ve never expected to have ended up here. But there they were.

Dolph brushed his fingers over his eyes, groaning through a raspy breath. Neville walked over to him, crouched by him, laid his arms over the other on his thighs. Dolph’s eyes softened behind his mess of hair, and he raked his fingers back over his scalp before allowing his hands to cup Neville’s jaw.

“Kid, I could lose everything I have, everything I stand for, but having you would make it all worth it.” Dolph said, weakly defiant. “Without you…I mean, look at me,” he laughed self-despairingly. “I’m a mess. I clearly can’t handle my own.”

“Sure, ya can,” Neville said tenderly, relaxing into his touch. Even if he was concerned for Dolph’s well-being day in and day out.. he still had what it took to pull through a lot of crap. He’d proven that time after time, since he was five years old at his first WWE show.

“Maybe.. But I like having you there, anyway.” Dolph brought their foreheads together, their breath mixing and everything slowly started to feel right again. No, _better_.

“I just can’t stand the thought of anything happenin’ to you,” Neville said. “Breakin’ somethin’, a sprain…even if you got the tiniest little nick, I’d feel your pain.”

Dolph grinned and it lit up Neville’s world.

“I hate not being there for you,” Neville admitted, “I promise I do. I hate this entire separation. It’s clearly drivin’ us both off a cliff.”

“Faster than Ambrose?” Even his sadness couldn’t stop the opportunity to slip in an insult about his opponent.

“For all the right reasons, though. At-- At least we haven’t considered breakin’ up.”

“Oh, God. Babe, _never_.” Dolph shuddered and then paused as if even he were shocked by his own reactionary disgust. “If anything, this time apart makes me appreciate you all the more when we _do_ get to be together.”

“Yes, I’ll admit I miss your charm and your smart-ass ways when you’re not around.”

“It ain’t just my ass that’s smart.”

Neville laughed. “Just like that.”

“Don’t worry about me, kid. I’m gonna be okay. I promise you that. I need this, almost as much as I need you. I find my very heart in my work and in my man. Right here.” He tapped Neville’s chest over his flapping heart.

“Well, good. I _need_ you to be okay. Without ya…”

“Hey. There ain’t ever gonna be a _without me_. Okay? You’ve got me. For better or worse.” Dolph wrapped his arms under Neville’s shoulders and heaved them both onto the bed together, foam mattress compressing under their united weight.

“Never thought I’d hear anythin’ like that from the Showoff.”

Dolph shrugged with played up nonchalance. “I’m getting older you know, one of these days I’ll have to settle down.”

“Settle down?!” Neville spluttered. Who the hell was this and what did they do with his Dolph Ziggler?

Dolph smiled wryly. “Who knows?” he murmured ambiguously against his lips. Neville’s muscles unwound, yet tightened up all the more as Dolph filled the whittling space between them and kissed him sweetly. Neville finally gave into the tension, the sort that he loved and craved out of Dolph rather than dramatic tension that got them to bicker.

His faith was in Dolph. His heart was Dolph’s and no one else’s.

 _Hell_. Dolph _was_ his heart.

“I love ya, Showoff,” Neville said, remembering how to smile again at last.

“Love you too, babe. Beard and all.”

Neville chuckled and fell victim to another wonderful kiss. Dolph rolled on top of him, eager fingertips undoing the drawstring of his shorts.

Things would be alright.

_They just have to be._


End file.
